01/19/2014
Exerpt from the book:
I just kept folding the clothes as I took them out of the dryer and put them into the laundry basket that I had sitting on the floor of the kitchen where the machines were located. He was ranting and raving, calling me names and accusing me of horrible things from his recliner in the living room, again. I just took it...in silence...like I usually did. If I spoke up to defend myself, it would just make it worse. Sometimes, he'd push the right button in just the right way and I'd say something that I'd regret the minute it came out of my mouth. Sometimes, though, my silence made it worse. I guess it didn't really matter, either way.
He'd thrown the dinner he made for himself on the floor earlier; breaking the plate. Over the years, I'd lost a lot of plates, cups, glasses, lamps, houseplants...you name it...to his tantrums. Obviously, he was drunk again.
I got on my hands and knees and cleaned up his mess before the dogs got into it. If I wasn't afraid they'd cut their paws on broken pieces, I'd have left it. It wasn't an immediate concern as they were currently hiding; something I wished I could do, but he always sought me out to continue his tirades. Sometimes, even into the wee hours of the morning; long after I had given up and gone to bed. I always wished he would just pass out so I could have peace but, he never did. I often thought about slipping some over-the-counter sleep aid into his beer in order to get him to pass out, but was always afraid he'd taste it and accuse me of trying to poison him. He accused me of trying to that many times already so, I never did try it.
I hated cleaning up his messes. It always made me feel like a slave. He would just sit there and watch me on my hands and knees with a look of such anger and loathing on his face. I can't even describe how it felt to have the one person, who was supposed to love you more than anything in the world, look at me that way and then still sleep in the same bed with that person. I couldn't bring myself to even look at his face most of the time because of the way it made me feel. I could almost feel his eyes burning holes in the top of my head. I positioned myself so I could watch his feet but never looked up. I continued to clean up while he relentlessly persisted with his tirade of accusations and insults from his recliner.
Once, many years before, he kicked me while I was cleaning up one of his messes off the floor, which knocked me over. Then, he accused me of over-acting because he didn't kick me that hard! Ok, he didn't really kick me. I guess it was more of a push as he put his foot on my hip and shove me over. In any case, it was just as humiliating.
I just kept my mouth shut and my head down so he couldn't see my tears and finished cleaning it up as quickly as possible before he could do it again. Because of the broken pieces of whatever it was he had smashed, I felt I had no choice but to get it cleaned up for the sake of everyone else in the house. This time, while cleaning up his mess, I decided the time had come to walk away but, first, I needed to do laundry.
